Tradeoff
by angelinhell
Summary: Random oneshot. Slightly PG13ratedpossible second chapter. Read & review, per favore?


One-shot R-rated scene. The "she" is supposed to be me; the "he" should be obvious.

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She brushed the pencil gently against the paper again, then shoved the sketchbook away in frustration. "Dammit, you make it seem so easy."

He looked up, then at the drawing. She had started well, but the failure of the lines to resolve themselves was discouraging her. He got up, circled the table, and leaned over her, taking her hand and gently reshaping the lines of her drawing without really noticing its content—until he stopped working and stared.

It was a picture of an angel, but its wings were black. It was looking over its own shoulder, the wings outstretched behind. It had a slightly masculine but mostly androgynous body, and the hard, reflective leather on its face was unmistakable. It was wearing a mask.

He was surprised and knew he had failed to conceal it. She sighed. "You weren't supposed to see it until it was finished," she said softly, a note of apology in her voice.

He shrugged and went back to his own drawing, trying to keep the lump in his throat from showing in his voice. "It's nothing."

She shook her head exasperatedly. "It's not nothing," she said, but she trailed off when he gave her a glare. Instead of speaking, she went around the table and gently touched his right hand. Taking the pencil from him, she leaned casually against the table.

"This isn't what you want to be doing, is it?" she said. He stood up and looked down at her, but she persisted: "What is it that you want?"

Recklessly he said, "To kiss you."

She smiled softly. "Then kiss me," she said, lifting her face slightly and closing her eyes.

He leaned towards her, half expecting her to pull away at the last minute. But finally their lips met, and she didn't try to stop it—was that eagerness he sensed behind the composure of her mouth?

When the kiss ended, she watched him for a few seconds. Her close scrutiny heightened the tension between them, but she seemed not to notice. Finally, she spoke.

"Will you promise to do something, before I tell you what it is that I want you to do? And don't worry," she said quickly as his hand lifted involuntarily to his face, "it's got nothing to do with that."

He looked at her, then nodded, trusting her. "I promise."

She thought for a few seconds, then nodded as well. She took one hand and led him out of the central room into the one she used. She closed the door and locked it—the precaution was pointless, as no one could get into the house, let alone that specific room, but he knew it made her feel better, so he said nothing.

She crossed the room again, back to where she had left him standing, and looked up at him. Leaning up towards his face, she whispered in his ear, "Undress me...but from behind."

It seemed an odd request but odd paled beside the enormity of what she was asking him to do. She knew him, if anything, better than he did himself—she knew the danger that would put her in...unless she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He hardly dared to hope but knew that, with her, anything was possible.

She turned her back to him, drawing his arms around her waist. He drew in his breath sharply at being so close to her, and she broke his hold for a moment to look concernedly back at him. He smiled. "It's all right," he said. "A little too all right, that's all."

She laughed quietly, then pulled his arms around her again. Though he was ready for it this time, the sudden warmth of her body against his was still surprising and he found himself lowering his head to her throat and kissing her shoulder.

She turned her head, exposing more bare skin to his searching lips. He worked his way in the opposite direction, up her neck instead of along her shoulder. To his surprise, she pushed his hands up under her shirt and, without giving it much thought, he pulled it over her head.

She turned towards him and pressed her lips to his again. He responded warmly, his hands roaming along her body. She leaned into him. After a few seconds locked in that embrace, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her around. Resting his head on her shoulder, he snaked his arms around her waist.

With a smile he could not see from behind her, she put one hand up and touched his cheek—but her fingers, instead of warm, inviting skin, met cool, smooth, hardened leather. He flinched but she soothed him with a gentle touch along his hairline and a soft semi-syllable conveying love and safety. He returned to his hands along her waist.

The puzzle of jeans was soon solved and within moments the supple denim had been kicked into a corner. She turned towards him—her hands slid up his back and carried the material of his shirt with them. Completing the action easily, she drew the material off his body.

Further disrobing on his part was soon completed until all he wore was the mask. He kissed her gently and reached behind her for the clasp to the undergarment he had been studying for the past five minutes. But, for the first time, she turned slightly and his hold was broken.

He looked down at her questioningly. What could have changed her mind...? But it soon became evident that her mind had not changed—only her method.

"Trade," she said.

He stared at her not comprehending. She sighed. "This," she said, gesturing towards her body, "for that."

She pointed at the mask.

He didn't believe her at first. But when he didn't wake up and her expression stayed the same, he was forced to accept the pronouncement. "Why?" he said softly.

She slid up to him, soft flesh against his. "Could you touch me, love me, if I left them on?" she asked. He shook his head. She ran her fingers along the length of his collarbone and he drew in his breath sharply. "It's the same for me," she said, stepping away from him. "I can't receive a body I don't know every inch of...I can't let you love me if I don't know you."

He shook his head slowly. "But you would hate me—you aren't ready—"

She laughed gently. "If you're doing the judging, my love, I don't think I'll ever be ready—because you'll never be ready. It's not about me at all, is it? But I know I'm ready...because of why I love you."

His eyes glinted mirthfully as he said, "And why is that?"

She smiled. "If you had any other face I couldn't love you, because then you wouldn't be the person who now stands before me—the person I love so much and desire so much. Without the cause of your suffering, you would never be the man I care for...the man behind the mask. It is that behind the mask that I love, and not the mask itself. Trust me—I won't hate what I love above all else. I've kissed your lips and loved every moment—you've kissed me and I've loved it—why then should I fear the sight you've denied me?"

"It will not be easy."

"Neither will it be for me." Her smile faded. "My body is something I've never had cause to love. Since I've never loved it, I can't believe that anyone else would—"

"But you are so beautiful—" he rushed to reassure her; she held up a hand.

"You think so, seeing me like this. But you haven't seen the part of me I guard most jealously—if you ask me to trust you, you have to trust me, as well."

Her logic was impeccable—sadly. He looked at her body and suppressed a sigh. "Blackmail," he said quietly. "Who goes first?"

She nodded. "Me, then you, then me."

He nodded back. "All right."

She placed her hands behind her back and performed a small snapping motion. Then, slowly, closing her eyes, she removed the upper half.

Her skin was smooth and clean, with conspicuous tan lines down her chest. He moved closer and lowered his head to the front of her throat. But with the first touch of his lips to her skin she pulled away, opening her eyes.

"A sight for a sight, a touch for a touch," she said. "Go on."

He looked into her eyes and saw the unshakable faith of one in love there. Feeling as comforted as could be expected, he raised his hands to his face, lowering his head. He slid the leather off but did not raise his eyes. She touched his cheek gently and lifted his eyes to hers.

There was no horror there, no fear, no hatred—only a soft sorrow and the slightest hint of pity. She pressed her lips to his cheek in the slightest of kisses. He reached around her.

All organization was forgotten as their lips met—he only had the presence of mind and the time to turn the gaslights down before she drew him to the floor.

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Who wants to hear more:) Review and I'll post middle and morning after stuff, all right? 


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